


When You Open Your Legs

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Patrick in Dad fashion, Pete in Gucci sweaters, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, pretty much an excuse to write porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 18:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12393417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: Pete is buying more than overpriced Gucci sweaters, and he's eager to share his purchases with Patrick...





	When You Open Your Legs

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey there! True to my words, I emerge every six month to bring you a fic that's not full of angst. And just like before, I've had this fic finished 95% for months, and could never bother to do the final touches and just upload it... But I'm doing it now, or it will sit forever in my Google docs. Thanks to the lovely Flames_And_Jade for beta reading, and sorry everything took so long... 
> 
> Title - to no one's surprise - from a Morrissey song. 
> 
> Pretty much what the tags say. Enjoy!

 

 

Patrick is getting impatient.

 

They’ve been invited to a party, and they’re already late because Pete is _still_ in the bathroom.

 

Truthfully, Patrick couldn’t care less about any party. The work on the new album is stressing him out enough – the tracks aren’t even halfway finished, and the release date is coming closer and closer. There’s all the promotional stuff, photoshoots, interviews, fan reaction, media responses… Patrick sighs, before putting on his baseball cap. He briefly considers a fedora, but he can’t be bothered. He’s wearing contacts, that has to count as dressing up.

“I’m waiting downstairs,” he yells at the closed bathroom door, hoping that Pete will get the not-so-subtle message to hurry the fuck up.

 

After what feels like an eternity later, while Patrick is contemplating either running upstairs and banging against the bathroom door, or quietly slipping out the backdoor and avoiding the party altogether, Pete finally comes downstairs. “I’m almost ready,” he announces, already in the hallway to grab a pair of shoes. Thankfully, he doesn’t need long to decide on a pair of sneakers, and he comes back into the living room. He gestures towards his shirt and looks at Patrick expectantly. “Bought this for the party today. What do you say? Good?”

 

Patrick considers--he’s wearing his black overalls with a shirt underneath that can only described as _tacky_ – it’s black with a colorful flower motif and the not-very-discreetly-placed brand name made it obvious that this shirt alone cost more than Patrick’s entire outfit.

 

He lets out a sigh, but says nothing. Pete’s an adult, he can spend his income however he wants, though the nicest thing Patrick could say about his new shirt is _giant waste of money_. He decides it’s better not to share that thought with Pete.

“Why are you wearing overalls?”

Pete sends him a wink. “Why not? It goes so well with the shirt,” he says, and wiggles his hips. “And it makes my ass look great.”

Patrick doesn’t comment on that, just shakes his head. The evening is already stressing him out way too much, and they haven’t even left the house yet. As Pete sits down to put on his shoes, Patrick feels a spark of insecurity as he compares their outfits. He is wearing the first pair of pants he found in his wardrobe, a short-sleeved button down, and a cardigan. It all look simple and unremarkable next to Pete’s outfit. He isn’t even sure if he has brushed his hair before jamming his next-best baseball cap on top.

 

“Hey, you look stunning.” Pete comes over to give him a kiss, and smiles. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, you know. You’re always awesome ‘cause you are you.”

Patrick curses Pete for knowing him and his insecurities so well, but then again, it’s nice that Pete always knows what to say to comfort him. He might take awfully long in the bathroom, and Patrick still hasn’t figured out how he can make those cheesy words sound so sincere, but being married to Pete has its advantages. “Thanks,” he mumbles in response, and he too can’t keep a smile from his lips. “You look great, too.”

“Told ya these pants make my butt look fantastic!” Pete sends him a poorly executed wink, and Patrick laughs.

“Okay, enough. Let’s go and get this over with.”

“It will be a memorable evening, I’m sure!” Pete says ominously. Patrick isn’t sure what exactly about this party is going to be special. Before he can ask, Pete gives him another kiss, then drags him out of the house while babbling about who’s coming and what kind of food the catering will provide. He certainly has a little too much energy and enthusiasm for Patrick’s taste; it’s almost suspicious. He sighs again, and hopes for the best.

 

 

Patrick doesn’t actually see much of Pete at the party. As soon as they arrive, Pete mingles in with the crowd, making  sure to talk to everyone like the social butterfly he is. Something’s just a bit off--he seems too giddy, too fidgety, and the grins he sends Patrick are a little too bright, but Patrick chalks it up to his own grumpiness. Pete deals differently with stress, and if this is what he needs and can enjoy now, fine.

A few hours in and nothing about this evening has been particularly memorable, which is a good thing in his opinion. He’s just glad to be having an okay time. Patrick isn’t in the mood for alcohol, so he is eyeing the sad-looking leftover food, but decides against it. He fiddles with his wedding band, wondering where Pete is and wondering if it would finally be appropriate to leave, when someone taps him on the shoulder. Patrick turns around, and sees Joe standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. He doesn’t look too sober, the alcohol twisting his concerned expression somewhat comically.

 

“Dude, you should totally check on Pete,” Joe half-shouts over the music, and it’s obvious that it takes him a little too much effort to form a coherent sentence without stuttering. _Yeah, definitely not sober._ “He’s not feelin’ well. Told me to get ya to help him, or whatever. He’s in the bathroom.”

Well, that answers the question about Pete’s whereabouts.

 

Patrick follows Joe through the crowd, hoping that Pete is alright and didn’t get himself into any kind of trouble.The bathroom is a little far off, and fairly small, with only two stalls. “’m gonna wait outside, ya know, make sure no one’s botherin’ you,” Joe says, nods, and closes the door behind Patrick.

 

The lightning is dim and the sound of the music is dulled, so it’s less noisy in here. One of the stalls’ doors is open, the other one is closed and Patrick knocks on it gently. “Pete? Hey, it’s me. Are you okay? Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he hears Pete reply, voice muffled. “Come in.”

When he opens the door, Patrick is prepared for the worst. Instead, he sees Pete sitting on the closed toilet lid, bouncing his leg and looking very much alive and well. Before Patrick can process this information, Pete stands up, pulls him in, and shuts the door. Patrick hears him lock it, too.

 

Realization dawns on him. “Pete, what the hell! You’re completely fine.” He wants to turn around and leave, but the door is locked and Pete is leaning against it. So, he sits down on the closed lid, eyeing Pete in a scolding manner. “You better have an explanation.”

“I haven’t seen you all night, babe. I missed you…”

 

Pete’s voice is wheedling, but annoyance creeps up on Patrick, replacing his worries. “Did you seriously just lie to Joe just so that we can make out in the bathrooml?!”

Pete nods and lowers his head, looking at Patrick with half-veiled eyes. “But I wanted a little private time with you!”

That would be almost sweet, if not for the total lack of remorse in Pete’s voice and the fact that they’re still in a public restroom… which is _not_ the place Patrick wants to be right now.

 

Not that it would be the first time they would be getting intimate in a public restroom--he remembers all too well the early days, when their old van would stop for gas or their next venue, and Pete would drag him to the nearest bathroom because it was the only bit of privacy they would have for God knows how many days.

Even later, privacy proved to be a rare thing. There were enough quickies or hushed blowjobs in anonymous toilet stalls, in dressing rooms, or the not always succeeding attempts at discreet sex in bus bunks to last a lifetime

 

But it’s not a particularly new, thrilling, or sexy setting anymore. They’re a married couple in their thirties, not some lovesick, horny young couple on the road. Patrick just feels ridiculous, sitting in a toilet stall, dressed in a button down and a _cardigan_. He fiddles with its sleeves, and sighs.

 

This causes Pete to furrow his brows. Obviously, he is not happy that this isn’t going according to his plan. Before Patrick can object, Pete straddled his lap, pressing a kiss on Patrick’s cheek, testing the water, and when his husband doesn’t object, he pressed another gentle kiss, this time on his lips.

_It sure feels nice,_ Pete’s weight on top of him and Pete’s lips on his skin, Patrick thinks, but he’s is not going to give in that easily.

“We’re too old for this,” Patrick grouses between kisses. “We have a very nice home, and a very nice bed to have sex in. In private, you know. Without having to worry. And it’s clean there, if I might add.”

“Yeah,” Pete says dismissively, his tone indicating that he has paid absolutely zero attention to whatever Patrick just said to him. He grinds his hips closer. “But I want you _now_.”

Pete is looking at him with big eyes, and sticks out his lower lip. It looks stupid, but luckily, Patrick is too much in love with him to be angry, and already a little turned on. _After all_ , he decides, _five minutes of making out with my husband can’t hurt._ It’s not like Patrick is eager to get back to the party, anyways.

 

“Y’know, the shirt is not the only thing I bought for today,” Pete whispers in between kisses a few minutes later.

 

“What is it?” Patrick asks, annoyed that their kissing has been interrupted, and suddenly anxious about what else Pete bought. _Wasn’t a severely overpriced shirt enough?!_

 

“See for yourself!” Pete stands up, ignoring Patrick’s protest. Within seconds, Pete  slides down the pair of suspenders and effortlessly shimmies  out of  his pants, never breaking eye contact.

Patrick’s eyes widen. “Did you get your dick pierced again? Because I swear –“

“No,” Pete denies, waving his hand. “C’mon, Patrick,” he continues when Patrick makes no effort to move. “You’ll love it!” He pulls Patrick up into a standing position, slinging his arms around him.

“I’ll love _what_ , Pete?” Patrick asks, though with less annoyance in his voice; his lips are back on Pete’s neck, his hands are back on Pete’s ass, and there’s less and less room in Patrick’s brain for any coherent conversational skills. Pete lets out a throaty laugh and grinds closer to him, close, close, closer, and fuck, Patrick can already feel Pete’s hard-on pressing against him. _Screw it_ , Patrick decides, he’s come this far, a quick blowjob wouldn’t hurt... might help to take his mind off his worries. Not to mention they haven’t had sex in a while, and Patrick is definitely starting to feel the evidence of that in his own pants.

So Patrick gets bolder, shoving his hands  down Pete’s boxers and moving dangerously close to dangerous territory, squeezing Pete’s butt cheeks before wandering in between them, and –

 

“What the hell,” Patrick blurts out when his fingers find hard plastic instead of soft skin. “Is that a -?”

 

“Oh, yes, exactly,” Pete confirms; his face overtaken by a wide grin now. He lets go of Patrick to slide down his underwear then turns around, arching his back and spreading his legs a little wider to ensure Patrick has the best view of what exactly is in between them. “You like it?” He asks with a wink, and wiggles his ass.

 

Patrick shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

There’s a fucking butt plug nestled firmly between Pete’s butt cheeks, and if that weren’t enough, it is black with a purple flower on top of it, matching the ones embroidered on Pete’s shirt. Patrick is seriously speechless.

But the plug is very much real, and so is Pete’s grin. “Oh, I’m very serious about this,” he hums, batting his eyes in a coquette manner. “I even made sure it matches the new shirt!”

 

_Of fucking course_. Do these shirts come with matching accessories? Does the price tag include custom-made sex toys? Is this all some big joke? Patrick wonders, but then decides he doesn’t care how Pete managed to get this. “You’re unbelievable – did you seriously wear it all evening?”

“Of course.” Pete’s grin widens. “Made me think of you all night…” He drops his voice to a low, sultry tone. “Made me think of your cock whenever I moved…”

“This is fucking ridiculous!” Patrick blurts out, suddenly breathless. What’s even more ridiculous is that despite all his protests and against better knowledge, he can already feel his own dick hardening even further. He thinks back to every grin Pete sent him, every time Pete had seemed a little too restless, bouncing his legs, a blush and a too bright toothy smile on his face; well, now Patrick knows why, and he can’t deny that the thought is turning him on. _Goddamnit_.

 

Pete notices that, too. “Guess you will have to punish me, Patrick. Put some sense into me… And your dick, too, please.”

Well, Pete is already standing there, pants down around his ankles, already hard from the plug between his cheeks and _fuck it._ Patrick has tried to be a reasonable adult, but even he has his limits, and he’s only human after all. There’s only so much temptation he can resist, especially after the dry spell in their sex life for the past weeks.

 

“You’re right. I do need to teach you a lesson.” The words sound silly, but he knows that Pete is into it when he hums in affirmation, arching his back again.

 

“Yes, yes, absolutely. Give it to me, babe,” Pete moans. “ _Hard_.”

 

“Fine,” Patrick says as he runs his hand through Pete’s hair. “If you want it that way…” He curls his fingers into the black strands between them, and pulls Pete’s head back by it. Pete yelps, which only causes Patrick to tug at his hair again. “Keep quiet,” he says in a low voice, “or people might hear us.”

 

“Maybe I _want_ people to hear us,” Pete says with a grin, which earns him yet another tug.

 

“I’m the only one who gets to hear you, darling. Understand?” Patrick tightens his grip, and grazes Pete’s earlobe with his teeth. Pete whimpers and turns his head, trying to go for a kiss, but Patrick withdraws.

 

“I asked you a question.”

 

Pete nods slightly, the movements restricted by the hand still tugging his hair.“Good boy,” Patrick murmurs while leaning in to kiss him; he always feels a little awkward saying things like that. But the praise makes Pete sigh in contentment, and he kisses back fervently. Like always, his reactions are  enough to soon let Patrick forget about his inhibitions.

Pete grabs the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it off, only to be stopped by Patrick.

“Leave it on.” Patrick runs his unoccupied hand over the soft fabric and the delicate flower embroidery. “You paid so much money for it, I better get a good view of it.”

 

“If that’s what you want,” Pete replies, with slight disappointment in his voice. He’s never one to turn down an opportunity to be shirtless.

 

“Yeah, want that. You look so pretty in it,” Patrick whispers, and Pete smiles triumphantly, disappointment immediately forgotten.

 

“I’m gonna…” Patrick lets his hand wander down to Pete’s ass.

 

“Yeah, please. Go on.” Pete nods, as best as he can with Patrick’s other hand still fisted into his hair.

 

Patrick grabs the base of the plug, slowly pulling it out. He can see the wider part stretching Pete open, more and more and more, at its widest now, then Patrick shoves it back in. It evokes a loud wail from Pete. “Patrick, please –“

Before he can finish the sentence, Patrick has repeated the process, pulling the toy halfway out before shoving it back in, and with satisfaction, he registers how Pete is pushing back against it, moaning even more and forgetting whatever wanted to say.

 

He continues to fuck Pete with the toy for a while, before he slowly drags it out completely. It causes another pitiful protest from Pete, who is whimpering at the loss.

Patrick finally lets go of Pete’s hair, and digs both his hands into Pete’s butt cheeks, spreading them further. He eyes Pete’s hole, stretched by the toy and slicked up already.

 

“Do you need more prep?”

 

Pete shakes his head. “I’ve been ready for you all night, just go on and fuck me, please.”

 

That is not a request that Patrick is going to turn down. He hastily undoes his fly then shoves down his pants. He’s already hard, cock straining against his briefs, which reminds him – “Uh, Pete? Do you have lube, or anything?” Pete nods, standing and reaching for the pocket of his overalls, and gets out a small bottle of lube. A new one, Patrick notices. “You really had all of this planned,” he says with a scowl as Pete hands him the lube, openly leering at him. “What about condoms?”

Pete badly mimics a look of regret. “Oh no... It seems I must have forgotten them at home. Sorry. But I promise I made sure  everything else is nice and clean –“

“Yeah, yeah, okay, enough,” Patrick interrupts him. He realizes that all this elaborate set-up for sex is responsible for Pete’s unusually-long stay in the bathroom earlier. He would almost be mad, if not for the fact that arousal cancels out every other thought in his head right now.

 

Pete turns his back to Patrick and braces his lower arms against the wall so he can hover over Patrick’s thighs. He spreads his legs wider and arches his back, while Patrick shoves down his briefs, and pours the lube over his fingers. He gives his dick a few pumps, spreading the lube over it as he rests a tentative hand on Pete’s hip.

 

Pete glances over his shoulder, clearly impatient. “Come on, _come on…”_

 

Hearing the desperation in his voice, he decides it’s only fair that he’s a bit obstinate right back...even though he is rock-hard and seconds away from just shoving his cock into Pete, he refrains. “So desperate...” He says instead, trying to sound nonchalant. “Look at you, begging…”

 

Pete scoffs. “Well, I did not walk around with this plug for hours to _not_ get laid.”

 

“Fine, princess. I’ll give you what you want.”

 

Pete opens his mouth, presumably to protest being called a princess, but before he can object, Patrick pushes inside of him. Words are traded for a surprised gasp, then a satisfied moan. Patrick slowly slides in deeper, entranced with the sight of his cock entering Pete and the delirious sensation of being inside of Pete’s body. The plug had already stretched and teased him for hours, leaving Pete very impatient and soon  and as soon as Patrick was seated Pete was already greedily rocking back against hisPatrick’s dick.

“Fuck, Patrick – fuck, don’t hold back.” Pete is already panting, and his voice sounds husky and demanding as Patrick twitches his hips but refuses to give him what he wants. “C’mon _please_ , I’m done with teasing for today.” He clenches around him in retribution and suddenly Patrick finds he is much less inclined towards teasing.

“Yeah, okay.” He breathes as he pulls up Pete’s shirt and digs his right hand into his back, thumb pressed into one of the two dimples there. He fleetingly regrets telling Pete to leave it on – he wants to kiss him, graze his teeth over his skin, leave a mark.

...But Pete’s neck and throat aren’t covered by the shirt. Patrick grabs him by the hair with his left hand, pulling his head up to gain better access to the area. He runs his tongue over the exposed skin, and the deep groans in his ears and goosebumps under his lips send a shiver down Patrick’s spine. He gives a little bite, sucking on the tender skin and knows it will leave a mark.

 

He picks up speed, thrusting harder into Pete, who groans and reaches for his cock.Patrick bats his hand away, which causes a strangled noise of protest. “Patrick, c’mon, I wanna come –“

 

“Not yet.. You’ve been waiting all evening, you can be patient and wait a little longer, right?” Truthfully, Patrick just enjoys Pete being so desperate. He can be such a goddamn brat sometimes, and Patrick said he was here to teach him a lesson...so a little denial is only appropriate.

 

“That’s so _mean_ ,” Pete whines, though he puts his hand back against the wall. Brat or not, he knows when to be obedient.

 

“Good boy.” Patrick teasingly lays his thumb and index finger on the head of Pete’s dick, wiping some pre-come over the slit. “Keep up the good attitude, and I’ll let you come.” When he withdraws his fingers, Pete lets out another whine in protest, but Patrick ignores it as he puts a hand back on his hips.

 

He’s fucking harder into Pete now, each thrust causing another delectable whimper. Pete is almost sobbing, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes; Pete is a crier when he’s getting fucked hard, and Patrick can’t deny that he gets a huge kick out of it. His fingers twist harder into Pete’s hair, keeping a tight grip on it, and his other hand digs deeper into Pete’s hips, guiding him to move to Patrick’s pace. If Pete wants it hard, he is going to give him that.

 

 

Suddenly, the noise from the outside world swells as someone opens the door and then vanishes back to relative silence, as footsteps make it clear that someone came inside. Patrick freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. Panic leaves him dumbfounded and unable to move. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ –

 

“You guys okay in there?”

 

It’s Joe’s voice, much to Patrick’s relief. He still doesn’t sound quite sober, and Patrick prays that his mind is too clouded by alcohol to notice what’s going on.

 

“We’re okay,” Patrick says through gritted teeth; he lets go of Pete’s hair, but keeps a harsh grip on his hips.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Pete hums, voice almost singing. Patrick digs his blunt nails further into Pete’s skin in an attempt to quieten him – with little success. “Patrick is taking _such_ good care of me!”

Patrick wants to protest and he briefly considers slapping his hand over Pete’s mouth to shut him up. But then, Pete pushes back against his cock, squeezing tight around it and Patrick has to let go of him to bite into the sleeve of his cardigan to avoid letting out a traitorous moan. _Fuck_. The situation apparently can’t kill his boner.

“We’re okay,” Patrick finally blurts out in a pathetic-sounding voice. “Please, Joe, can you just make sure no one comes in--” Pete buckles his hips again, and Patrick almost chokes on his last words. Pete is still so fucking tight around him, hot and slick and feeling way too good.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Pete moans tantalizingly, while twisting his head and upper body enough to look at Patrick with a shit-eating grin. Patrick desperately hopes that Joe is drunk enough so that his brain will spare him from the realization that his two friends are fucking in a public restroom like some irresponsible, horny teens, three feet away from him and only separated by the stall door.It wouldn’t have been the first time they had been caught in a rather compromising situation, and it’s an experience Patrick would gladly avoid right now.

 

Apparently, fate has mercy on Joe, because he gives no sign of having any clue about what’s going on behind the closed door. He only answers, “’Kay, yeah, take your time. Lemme know when you feel better, Pete.” His voice sounds tired, with concern showing through, and Patrick’s guilty conscience doubles. He makes a mental note to apologize.

“Oh, I feel better already!” Pete purrs, but Joe must have missed his reply. There’s the sound of the door opening and closing behind him, and at that, Patrick lets out the breath he’s been holding in for a while now.

 

“What the fuck, Pete?!”

 

“Hey, I didn’t know someone would come in.” Pete pouts, neck twisted around as he tries his best to look innocent and fails miserably. But Patrick can’t really argue with that (though he knows Pete certainly doesn’t mind getting caught – if anything, he manages to get some perverted, exhibitionistic pleasure out of it) and, well, Patrick is currently balls deep inside of him despite knowing better, so it’s a little hard to hold the moral upper ground.

Still, he can feel a hint of anger and annoyance, especially with Pete still staring over his shoulder with that stupid pout on his lips. So he decides to go for a different approach--he leans closer to Pete’s ear, and whispers, “Didn’t I tell you that I’m the only one who gets to hear you?”

 

With satisfaction, he notices Pete’s eyes widen almost comically, and his attitude shifts. “’m so sorry, Patrick,” he mumbles, an apologetic smile replacing his former expression. “I’ll do what you tell me now.”

“Oh, you want to moan and whine like some fucking slut? Go ahead then.” Patrick takes Pete’s dick into his hand, giving it a few broad strokes. “Let me hear you, Pete,” he orders in a low voice, “Be a good boy.” Patrick starts to move again, thrusting harder into him than before, and Pete doesn’t have to be told twice to be loud.

It doesn’t take long until he’s coming all over Patrick’s hand, squirming and moaning as Patrick strokes him through his orgasm. He feels the anger melt away--Pete’s so fucking beautiful like this, lips parted, eyes closed and the residue of tears shimmering on his flushed face. He’s trembling, still tensing around Patrick’s cock, and it’s enough to almost make Patrick give in and just come on the spot. He’s so fucking close, heat pooling into his stomach as everything inside him coils up tightly.

 

“Clean it up.” Patrick presses his palm against Pete’s mouth. His tongue darts out, licking over it until saliva has replaced the cum. Then, Patrick pushes three fingers against Pete’s lips, who obediently opens his mouth to take them in. Patrick can feel his tongue curling around his fingers, can feel Pete sucking on them, moaning and choking each time Patrick’s dick is pounding into him.

 

There’s spit running down Pete’s face and Patrick’s hand, mixed with hot, wet tears; his moans blur together with the sound of Patrick’s hips slapping against his ass, overshadowing the drowned-out sounds of the party outside, and he still feels so damn tight each time Patrick is thrusting into him.

 

It’s too much, and too fucking good, and with a groan, Patrick finally comes, hard and intense, deep inside of Pete.

 

He slumps over and rests his forehead against Pete’s neck, breathing hard. He withdraws his hand from Pete’s mouth to clutches it into the soft fabric of Pete’s shirt; he slides the other one underneath it, resting against Pete’s bare skin. They stay like that for a few moments, Patrick just taking in Pete’s smell, his warmth, his heartbeat, before he slowly pulls out. Pete winces and Patrick knows the slide-out is always his least favorite part especially after the sensation of the plug filling him up all these previous hours, the absence of anything inside of him must feel even more weird.

 

Using toilet paper and wincing as it dampens and tears, Patrick cleans himself, then pulls up his briefs and pants. Pete hasn’t moved at all, just leaning  against the wall eyeing Patrick with a lazy, content smile.

 

Patrick sits down on the toilet lid, feeling too boneless and exhausted to stand up. There’s a sink outside, but he really can’t be bothered with that much effort right now. “Come on, Pete. I’ll clean you up.”

Pete doesn’t move, just shakes his head. “Don’t.” His smile widens. “Makes me feel like I’m all yours.”

Patrick wrinkles his nose, and sighs. “That’s – that’s just nasty, Pete.” He wants to scold him further, but then, sudden inspiration strikes, and Patrick lowers his voice. “That’s not how a good boy behaves.”

 

It’s ridiculous, but Patrick knows it works. He stretches out his hands to pull Pete closer by his hips and isn’t met with any resistance as he turns him around. He’s level with Pete’s ass now, can see his pretty, stretched hole and  the first drips of cum leaking out already, a trail running down towards his thighs. On impulse, Patrick leans closer and licks it away. That causes Pete to let out a surprised sigh, and he instinctively arches his back in a silent plea for more, and _fuck_. Patrick decides to throw all common sense aside, and just goes for it, sliding his tongue teasingly upwards, from Pete’s upper thigh in between his cheeks, and over his wet entrance. 

It’s filthy and messy and probably something he will look back at with slight shame and embarrassment, but right now, Patrick doesn’t fucking care. Neither does Pete, who is gasping for air, and letting out high-pitched moans.

 

“Fuck, Patrick, what –“ He interrupts himself when Patrick’s tongue is licking over his hole again, and a moan replaces the rest of the sentence.

 

Patrick takes off his baseball cap, which keeps getting in the way, and places it on his lap. He puts his hands on Pete’s cheeks, spreading them for better access, and continues circling his tongue around the wrinkled skin, letting it slip inside of Pete with little trouble – his cock has left Pete wet and loose. The thought of that send an electric jolt through Patrick’s body, and he while he can’t get it up again so soon after fucking, he already feels his dick stir.

Pete is squirming and trembling from overstimulation, but he makes no effort to stop Patrick anytime soon. He’s sensitive and it’s so satisfying to see him react to every little lick, bite, stroke that he gives him.

Pete braces his arms against the wall again, hands clenched into fists, and Patrick’s name falls from his lips in broken syllables. He’s breathing heavily, and when Patrick reaches for his dick, he finds it half-hard under his hand.

 

“Seriously?” He gives Pete’s semi another stroke, causing an undignified huff from him. “I swear you’re still twenty sometimes.”

 

“Hey, I’ve been walking around with this goddamn plug for hours, so I’m horny as fuck, okay?” Pete’s voice sounds snotty, and he glances over his shoulders to give Patrick a cocky look. “Plus, do you know what you’re doing? How could I _not_ get hard again?”

 

“Well, want me to stop?” Patrick asks, teasingly running his hand down to Pete’s balls, and leaning forward to lick a stripe over his tailbone. His actions cause Pete to let out another huff, and he hisses: “Fuck, Patrick, I swear, if you stop now, I’m not above running outside to beg Joe to finish me off, if I have to.”

 

Patrick can’t help fighting the dirty grin that spreads on his face. The thought is tempting, having Pete be so fucking desperate and willing to humiliate himself, that Patrick’s denial is making him beg to get off from whomever is willing to give it to him, like some cheap slut. But sadly, it’s neither the right time nor place to expand on this any further, so Patrick just makes a mental note to talk about this later and concentrate on Pete’s ass again for now.

 

Pete is still loose from getting fucked, kept open by Patrick’s tongue, wet from leftover lube and the spit, so Patrick easily slips two fingers into him. He reaches for Pete’s dick again; it’s not fully hard yet, though leaking already, but Pete pushes his hand away. “’s too much,” he blurts out, before another strangled sob escapes his lips. He’s shaking, his thighs trembling, and he suppresses another moan by burying his head in his arms.

So instead, Patrick leans back in, licks over the rim of Pete’s stretched hole as he crooks his fingers slightly, and starts moving them. Pete is probably overstimulated, but Patrick takes him rocking back against his fingers and moaning obscenely as approval. Patrick pushes them in deeper, tongue sliding inside of Pete again, too. By now, Pete is pretty much reduced to a whimpering mess, and Patrick registers his own dick hardening again, too.

He continues like that, mouth pressed to Pete’s ass, tongue inside of him, fingers grazing over Pete’s prostate again, again, again, and that’s it – Pete comes, untouched, clenching incredibly tight around Patrick’s fingers while letting out a broken wail.

It’s too fucking hot, and Patrick hastily shoves his left hand inside his pants, two digits of his right hand still buried inside Pete. It only takes a few strokes until Patrick comes, less intense than the first time, but still pretty good.

 

Patrick withdraws his fingers, and absent-mindedly wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his cardigan, before he realizes _what_ exactly he’s wiping away; he sighs, and makes a mental note to throw it into the laundry bin as soon as possible. He looks down at himself and notices that his underwear and even his baseball cap, forgotten on his lap, is covered in his cum. _Great_ , he thinks to himself with a sigh, and considers just burning the whole outfit.

 

Pete is still shaking, and certainly past the point of forming coherent thoughts right now. Patrick cleans him up as best as he can, and this time, he’s met with no resistance. Patrick pulls up his underwear and the overalls; Pete is of little help and too uncooperative, slinging his arms around Patrick’s shoulder and burying his head in the crook of Patrick’s neck, so it’s no use to bother with the suspenders for now.

 

A toilet stall with such limited space doesn’t make for the most comfortable or alluring place to cuddle, yet Patrick doesn’t feel like going back out to the party anytime soon. And judging by one look at Pete, who’s still out of it, clinging to him as if Patrick could disappear the moment he lets go, Pete isn’t ready either.

 

Patrick gently lays his arms around Pete’s waist, and pulls him on his lap as they sit down. Pete winces slightly, no doubt from being sore, shifts around a little, until he finally seems to have found a more comfortable position. He leans his head against Patrick’s, eyes closed. “I love you.”

Patrick laughs, and shakes his head. “I love you too, asshole."

“A good boy?” Pete repeats, and Patrick nods. “The best boy,” he says, giving Pete another pat on the head.

Pete seems content with that, and lets Patrick comfort him. After a while, he relaxes, and sits up again. His eyes are a little clearer now, and he leans in for a sloppy kiss to Patrick’s lips.

 

“Don’t –“ Patrick tries to pull away, remembering where his mouth had just been. Pete just rolls his eyes, and goes for a kiss anyway. “ _Gross_ ,” Patrick mumbles in between kisses, but there’s no real bite behind his words. And after all, this is still the Pete who drank his own piss and probably did worse things with his mouth that Patrick would rather not think about right now.

Pete finally breaks the kiss, a smug grin on his face. “ _Now_ I got everything I wanted of this evening.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?” Patrick grumbles, but his weak scolding only earns him another grin this time. “And a goddamn brat on top of that.”

“Well, _you’re_ the one who’s spoiling me today,” Pete says with a wink, and Patrick can’t really argue with that. He rolls his eyes, though they both know it’s mostly for show, before smiling a little.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” He gives Pete another kiss, before he asks: “How do you feel?”

 

“Empty. And sore.” Pete chuckles, before his tone gets a little more serious. “And slightly overwhelmed, and a little dizzy. Can we – can we just stay like this for a while?” He nuzzles closer, and closes his eyes. “You feel so good, Patrick.”

 

“We’re so going to have to apologize to Joe,” Patrick mumbles. Pete only groans unhappily in response, but Patrick isn’t willing to fight about that. “We will. You too, Pete,” he says firmly, and though Pete doesn’t seem content, he knows that he has lost this battle. “Fine,” he says, with maybe a small hint of guilt in his voice. “Good boy,” Patrick says as he slings his arms around him. “The _best_ boy,” Pete insists, now with a hint of smugness in his voice. Still, Patrick can’t help but smile. “Yeah, Pete, the best boy.”

 

Patrick glances at Pete, who looks like a mess. He still isn’t wearing his overall properly, suspenders dangling useless around his hips, and his formerly carefully styled hair is a mess. But Pete’s eyes are still closed, and he looks more relaxed than Patrick has seen him in the past weeks. The hickey on his neck matches the flowers on his shirt: Purple flowers against a dark canvas. He’s a mess, but a beautiful mess, and more importantly, he’s Patrick’s mess, and despite everything, Patrick wouldn’t have it any other way. He smiles to himself as leans his head against Pete’s. The party outside is still ongoing, there are people waiting for them, and work is to be done. But for now, they can stay like this for just a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry I did this to Joe... It's up to you to decide if the poor dude really was too drunk to notice what's going on.  
> You can find more of my art on my tumblr [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com), I promise I'm a real artist sometimes who draws more than self-indulgent Peterick. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you liked it (or not), please feel free to leave a comment, those are what keep me going!


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